A/N: Oh God… I'm almost embarrassed to be posting another chapter SO LONG after the previous one. But anyway, as always I'd love to hear what you think of it!

Chapter Twenty One – Plans for the Future

In the days that followed, Mrs. Thornton was not blind to the shifts in her son and daughter-in-law's relationship. Now both rather sought than avoided each others' company, and instead of averted gazes they followed each other with their eyes. Both went about their day with small smiles on their faces as if recollecting some pleasant memory. Her son now kissed his wife's cheek in goodbye as he left for the mill in the morning, and where previously Mrs. Thornton might have felt uncomfortable at witnessing the public display of affection, now even as she pretended not to observe it she was secretly pleased for both of them.

She had observed with some amusement the performance the first time it had been enacted: her son had hesitated and looked anxious and had finally kissed her cheek quickly, leaving the room almost immediately after, and Margaret had waited until he had left to let the silly smile spread over her face. Now it had become part of their daily routine.

Something had happened, something had changed between them. And yet it was not what Mrs. Thornton had originally thought, for then she would not catch each gazing with wistful looks when they thought the other wasn't looking. Something still remained unsaid between them, but whatever it was that had occurred, it had clearly been a step in the right direction.

She was tempted to say something, to ask: partly out of concern for her son's – and yes, also her daughter-in-law's – welfare and happiness, and partly out of nothing more than simple curiosity. However, she determined against it. What had happened between them was their business and she would not pry.

She went on as if nothing had changed, or so she thought. If anyone had told her that there was a new cordiality, almost a softness in her manner towards her daughter-in-law, she would have been mortified.

'Are you sure you wish to part with those?'

Margaret nodded. She had made up her mind after much thought. 'I am certain; this is not something that can be done by halves – I must part with everything.'

Mrs. Thornton felt a new respect for her daughter-in-law, but true to her custom, much of her feeling did not show in her words which many not well acquainted with her might have thought indifferent. 'Very well, then.'

The two women were sitting together in the small drawing room of the Crampton house, compiling the final list of the items which were to be sold at the auction of the Hales' belongings which would take place on the morrow.

For Margaret it had been a rather depressing piece of work, but one that had to be done. She could not afford to be sentimental over her parents' belongings and their old furniture from Helstone. The Crampton house had to be cleared, the Thornton house was already fully furnished, and any money that could be had from the auction would be necessary if Marlborough Mills and Mr. Thornton's enterprise were to stand even a chance of surviving.

Perhaps a year ago, Margaret would have been glad to see one of the town's cotton mills – which she had seen as a hell in which workers were exploited and tormented for the profit of the greedy master – close down, but now she knew that such an occurrence would not be liberating for the workers. On the contrary, it would just deprive them of their source of income and drive them to one of the other mills, desperate for work, willing to compromise their wages, their union dues, anything, so long as they could feed their families.

But now Margaret believed in what Mr. Thornton was doing, the changes he was effecting – and she would do all in her power to keep it alive.

Mr. Thornton had not interfered in the organisation of the auction, which Margaret had taken all upon herself; he knew that it was important to her that she be the one to dispatch her parents' belongings. He had offered his help insofar as providing men to help transport everything to the site of the auction (Nicholas and some others had been more than willing to help), and she had accepted gratefully – but that was the extent of his actions.

He had, however, instructed Williams the overseer to go along to the auction, in order to bid for an item he thought Margaret might appreciate.

To be sure, it would not be much of a gift to be presenting her with something her parents had used to own, but he hoped the thought behind it would be one that she would like. It would be a promise of sorts, a sign to tell her that he knew her and thought of how to make her happy; something he would strive to do now as well as in a hopefully more prosperous future.

And at that thought, dismal as the accounts he was tallying were, Mr. Thornton allowed himself a small smile.

If Margaret had hoped to raise a significant amount through the auction, she was disappointed. And after all, it was no great wonder: the Helstone furniture, the dear old chairs and sofas and tables which had formed the surroundings of her childhood were well-worn and rather shabby; the vases and ornaments, though pretty, were no antiques to bring much value; the once-pretty floral curtains and cushion covers had grown faded.

Actually, the only item to single-handedly raise any significant amount was her father's collection of books, which she had been loath to part with at first. They had been her father's most cherished possessions, and the hours of enjoyment and satisfaction he had gotten from these old, but handsomely bound volumes had made Margaret love them too, long before she had perused their contents for herself. But go they must, she had decided, and though it had caused her a pang to part with them, she was glad she had.

Perhaps the money from the auction was not enough to place the mill out of danger, but every little amount would help, and if she were to add the four hundred pounds from the auction to the eight hundred Mr. Thornton had in his possession, it would guarantee them another six weeks of safety, until they could think of what more they could do.

She, Mr. Thornton and his mother had talked about what steps they could take, and all had agreed – Mrs. Thornton most vehemently of all – that if need be, some of the furniture and ornaments from their house were items they could do without. Mrs. Thornton had even stoically offered the precious damask tablecloths which had been in her family for so long, but Margaret, who had gotten to know her mother-in-law's manner by now, knew what a sacrifice this was to her, and sincerely hoped matters would not grow so desperate as to force them to part with heirlooms.

Yet she could not deny that she was worried, and later that night when they were alone in their bedchamber, she could tell by the expression on her husband's face that he was too. And yet she at least had the comfort of trusting to him, whereas he had to shoulder the majority of this burden by himself.

As she placed a reassuring hand on his arm, she tried to push aside her own worry. 'It will be alright,' she said. Then she smiled a little at the thought which occurred to her. 'Even if we have to give up the mill, we can always move South and become labourers. You can spend the day digging and ploughing the fields, while I cook and iron for my living.'

That sudden beautiful smile came over his face at the picture of poverty she conjured, and despite his low mood, he had to laugh at it. 'Perhaps our circumstances won't be quite that dire, Margaret. Why don't you see if you can sketch out a life for us a few grades above that?'

Margaret pretended to think hard, a mock-serious look on her face. 'Very well, how would you like to keep a shop? You could take care of ordering goods and doing the accounts, and I could serve customers.'

She surprised even herself to find that although she was proposing it as a joke, she would gladly do it if it would help Mr. Thornton. She wondered how she could ever have looked down on 'shoppy people', as she had called them, for attempting to make their lives better by earning an honest living. She flushed a little at the thought of what a silly, ignorant, prejudiced girl she had been.

Mr. Thornton was still smiling. 'That is an idea,' he said, 'but for now let us not give up hope that all may yet turn out well with the mill.'

She nodded, glad to have reassured him, and feeling a little more confident herself. 'The money from the auction will help, for a while at least, I hope.'

He glanced at her quickly, and then said quickly, 'Speaking of the auction, I did ask Williams to bid for an item which I thought you might appreciate.' He looked strange, different somehow as one of his hands played with the chain of his pocket watch, while the other came up to run through his hair. And then it hit her that he seemed nervous, shy almost. It was utterly strange to see the man who was usually so authoritative and confident like this.

She smiled warmly at him, trying to set him at ease. 'I'm sure I will,' she said, taking his arm. 'Will you show me?'

He led her into the small sitting room he had given to her, and then she gasped as she saw her father's old bookcase, the one that had been in his study for as long as she could remember. Rather battered, a little shabby, but that bookcase and its contents had always put her in mind of her father. 'I thought you might want somewhere to keep all your father's books,' he said, watching her face carefully.

She couldn't help her dismay showing, and his face fell. 'What is it?' he said, rather gruffly.

She shook her head. 'Nothing, it's just…' Then she blinked rapidly to get rid of the prickling sensation in her eyes. 'Oh dear, if I had only known…'

Now he looked concerned. 'What is it?' he repeated more urgently, bending his head to get a clearer view of her downturned face. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' she repeated, and now she felt herself smiling. 'Only that you saved my father's bookcase so I could fill it with his books, and I… I sold all his books to raise more money to save the mill.'

Her husband's face seemed to be undecided as to which emotion to express: surprised gratitude that she had sold the books to invest the money in the mill, or disappointment that his gift was now rather redundant. Disappointment won and he couldn't help the small sigh which escaped him as he sought to let go of her arm.

Margaret merely tightened her grip and rested her head on his shoulder. 'I cannot thank you enough. I tried to be sensible and practical about it, but I admit that it hurt to part with all my parents' belongings. Now at least I have this, and even if I don't have my father's books, we can fill it up with our own someday.'

For a moment they were silent, and then Mr. Thornton spoke, his voice sounding almost hesitant. 'Margaret?'

'Hmm?'

She couldn't see his face, but she could feel the tension in his muscles when he next spoke. 'That letter you sent… will the bookcase stay empty after you get the reply?'

'No,' she said softly. 'I will never let our bookcase remain empty.'

His arm wrapped itself around her waist and she knew without looking that he was smiling.